


New York (or: Wonderful Town)

by Jadesfire



Series: The Wandering Years [1]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:05:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadesfire/pseuds/Jadesfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jack hits the town, he really hits it</p>
            </blockquote>





	New York (or: Wonderful Town)

****

**November 1972.**

 **Torchwood Three, Cardiff **

Hugh looked up as Hywel dropped the package on his desk.

“You the delivery boy now, son?”

“It’s from New York,” Hywel said excitedly. “It’s from Jack.”

“It’s probably just his latest report.” Hugh closed the file he’d been working on and carefully tore the bulky envelope open. Inside was a set of papers stapled together in one corner, a handwritten note and something that looked like a piece of dark material. Hugh fished it out first, unfolding it and laughing.

“He’s sent you a present,” he said, throwing the object to Hywel. It was a cap, dark blue with a stylised “NY” monogram on the front. “Now go on with you and get some work done.”

“Neat.” Hywel pulled the cap on, took the empty mug from his father’s desk and headed for the door as Hugh settled back to read.

_Dear Hugh,_

_Well, here’s the new novel. New York is big, brash and loud, kind of like the people. Hours of fun (remind me to tell you about the boa constrictor), although I wouldn’t include the assignment in that. Turns out things can get just as messy over here as they can over there and Weevils aren’t the worst of it._

_Have heard that Harding wasn’t impressed with my last offering, so will hope that this is more to his taste. Have tried to put more between the lines, although I began to run out of room near the end. I'm relying on you to check my typing, by the way._

_I enclose a present for Hywel and a kiss for Marion, both of which I’m sure I can trust you to deliver faithfully._

_Yours as ever  
Jack._

Between the lines indeed. Putting the note to one side, Hugh unfolded the pages of Jack’s report. He was sure it would make interesting reading.

_From: Captain Jack Harkness_  
To: Torchwood One, London. (c/o Torchwood Three, Cardiff)  
Date: 12th November 1972  
Subject: Report on Assignment TW/JH/196.72 

_Arrived in New York on 15th October after a satisfactory conclusion to Assignment TW/JH/195.72 in Boston. With all the leaves falling, no-one noticed any difference anyway. As Torchwood does not maintain an office in New York, I proceeded alone, acting on the information provided by Intercept. At the location indicated, I encountered several members of federal law enforcement and, despite an initial misunderstanding, agreed that it would be better to pool our resources._

* * *

** New York, Three Weeks Earlier **

Torn between annoyance and amusement, Jack dabbed at his lip with the handkerchief. The ice-cube it was wrapped around helped with the swelling and there didn’t seem to be any more blood. Across the table, the rather red-faced FBI agent winced in sympathy. 

“I’m really sorry, Captain.”

“I told you to forget about it.” Jack didn’t attempt his usual grin, not wanting to open the gash again, so he settled for a rueful half-smile. “And thanks for the ice.”

“No problem.” The man stared at the desk again, twirling a pencil between his fingers. “I’m sure Tom’ll be right back with the coffees.”

“I’m sure. So why don’t you bring me up to speed while we’re waiting? What took you guys there?”

The agent hesitated, but the memory of the past hour must have overruled his reluctance. “The police have been finding some pretty weird bodies lately. Mauled by animals or something like that, and too many of them. They thought it might be a serial killer, so they passed it over to us. All the bodies turned up within ten blocks of that store, so when a neighbour reported suspicious noises-”

“You put two and two together.” Jack dropped the ice-cube onto the table. “Can’t say I blame you. Special Agent O’Brien, wasn’t it? You got a first name?”

“Sean.” 

“Should have guessed. Well, Sean, you were right about the store and you were right about the bodies. The only problem is, you’re wrong about the animals.”

They both looked up as the door opened and they were joined by O’Brien’s partner. Tom Jenkins, Jack remembered. He was carrying three mugs of coffee, manoeuvring expertly round the door and putting them on the table.

“There we go. What was that about animals, Captain?”

“Please, call me Jack.” Taking his coffee, Jack sipped cautiously. “I was just saying, you were right that what you’re looking for came through that store and is responsible for the dead bodies you’ve been finding. How many was it, by the way?”

“Seven. Some of them were in pieces. One had had its brain eaten.” Jenkins shuddered, taking a swig of coffee. “Pretty nasty stuff and we see the worst of it.”

“Ate the brain?” Jack thought for a moment. “That’s interesting.” He saw the two agents share a look and shook his head. “The stranger it is, the more helpful it is for narrowing it down.”

“Narrow down what?” Jenkins slammed his cup onto the table, coffee sloshing over the sides. His voice was tight, rising in volume as he spoke. “You turn up, breaking and entering premises that we’ve got under surveillance, you nearly take my arm off when we try to arrest you, then you produce some fancy ID that’s got the Bureau Chief himself showing you the red carpet. Now you’re being all cryptic and knowing instead of just telling us what the hell’s going on here.”

Unmoved, Jack took another sip of coffee before answering. “Ok, first of all, you had a gun pointed at me, so whatever I did was purely self-defence. Second of all, my ID gets me all the way to the President himself if necessary, so fancy doesn’t begin to cover it and you need to know who you’re talking to. And last of all, I’m going to tell you what’s going on, as soon as I figure out if you guys can take it.” He didn’t raise his voice or look away from Jenkins’ angry face. The man subsided under the steady gaze, glancing at his partner who had remained quiet through the exchange.

“But you don’t deny you were breaking and entering?” O’Brien said, breaking the tense silence.

For a moment, Jack forgot his split lip and grinned. “I try not to break things. Leaves so much mess.” He picked up the handkerchief and wiped the blood away again. “But yes, I was trying to get into the store.”

“Why?”

Jack hesitated, then said, “Because my own sources had told me that something was going on there.” He sat up, fishing in his pocket for a small, black object which he placed on the table. “This is an energy detector. It- well, it detects energy, but it can tell what kind of energy it’s detecting. And it picked up a specific kind of energy that I’m interested in.”

“What would that be?” O’Brien asked. Both of the agents were leaning forwards now, looking from Jack to the scanner and back again. Unable to help himself, Jack leaned in further until their heads were almost touching. 

“Alien energy,” he said in a half-whisper, and watched the reactions. Jenkins sat back, making a disgusted noise and reaching for his coffee again.

“If you’re just going to screw with us-”

“Nothing further from my mind, trust me,” Jack said, looking at O’Brien. “Well, Special Agent?” 

“How does it detect it?”

“Sean!”

“You saw the bodies, Tom,” O'Brien said evenly. “Did it look like it was done by any animal you’ve ever seen?” He looked up at Jack. “How does it detect the alien energy?”

“You don’t believe a word of it, do you?” Jack said. “But since you’ve had the manners to ask…” He pressed one of the buttons on the bottom of the scanner, making the display light up. “You just have to know how to use it.”

“So you’re seriously telling me that all those people were killed by aliens?” O’Brien watched the waves on the tiny screen.

“Not exactly. I’m telling you that they were killed by alien animals. Someone’s importing them from off-world, probably selling them as exotic pets. Only they don’t know enough about it and some of the animals are getting out and killing people.”

“How do we find them?”

Jenkins exploded. “Sean, would you stop? This guy waltzes in like he owns the place, spins us some fairy tale about alien animals and you just buy it?”

“Not a word,” O’Brien said with a grin. “But I love a good story, and you’re one of the best I’ve ever seen.” He gave Jack an appreciative nod. “You even bring your own props. So what’s really going on?”

“Apparently, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Jack turned the scanner off and put it back in his pocket. “But if you want to see for yourselves, then stick with me. I promise you the ride of your lives.” He got up, heading for the door of the small interview room, pausing to look back at the two men. “Well, are you coming?”

* * *

Hugh flicked to the back of the report, looking through the copies of police photographs that Jack had attached. The quality wasn’t great, but he could make out torn flesh and blood-smeared walls. The mauled corpses had been found down alleys or on dark, narrow streets. Two of the bodies seemed to have been dumped, the severed limbs and head wrapped in a bag with the torso and hidden in a garbage can. The rest were obviously the result of a more frenzied attack. Every corpse was incomplete, with the missing parts apparently having been eaten. 

He turned back to the report. 

_We returned to Harson's Pet Store in Downtown Manhattan in order to pursue the interrupted line of enquiry. The store seemed to have been abandoned, although I detected traces of transmat energy in a room on the second floor. There was no sign of the owner or any non-Earth lifeform, alien or aminal. Accordingly, I asked the federal agents to obtain the home address for the owner, Mr Harson._

Hugh took a pencil from the pot on his desk, corrected the typo and read on.

* * *

Jack shook his head as they rode up in the elevator. 

“This can’t be it.” 

“What do you mean?” Jenkins asked, watching the numbers light up in sequence. 

“Twelfth floor? For someone importing animals that can rip a man’s head off? Would you keep a tiger up here?” 

“You said it wasn’t a tiger,” O’Brien pointed out. 

“Whatever.” Jack was still shaking his head as they stepped onto the twelfth floor. “They’re not going to be here.” 

“But maybe the guy will be.” Jenkins led the way down the corridor, stopping at apartment 1211. “Think we should knock?” 

“Only polite.” O’Brien banged his fist against the door. “Federal Agents,” he shouted, “open up!” 

There was the sound of moving furniture and an internal door being opened and closed. Jack, who had one ear to the door, raised an eyebrow. 

“I don’t think he’s coming.” He saw Jenkins and O’Brien exchange a look. 

“All we’ve got is some strange noises and nosy neighbours. It’s not exactly probable cause.” O’Brien shrugged helplessly. “We can try and get a warrant.” 

“To hell with that.” Jack stepped away from the door. “Those bodies were probable cause enough for me.” Taking another step back, he kicked at the door, just above the lock. It creaked, then gave way as he kicked it a second time. He paused for a moment, listening. There was no sound of movement from inside, only an electronic hum. 

He took another step into the apartment, vaguely aware of the agents waiting outside. The hum was getting louder. 

“Anything?” Jenkins asked, peering into the small lounge. Jack shook his head. 

“Not that I can see. What is that?” He looked round the room. There was a TV and radio, as well as a small stove in the kitchenette attached. 

“What’s what?” O’Brien came into the room, ignoring Jenkins’ warning glare. He stopped when he heard the noise, tilting his head to one side. “What’s that?” 

“Is there an echo in here?” Jack asked absently. Sofa, chair, table, sink, counter, window. He continued his mental inventory, trying to find the source of the sound. It seemed to be coming from the door on the far side of the kitchenette. And as he turned his head towards it, Jack recognised the noise. 

He must have yelled something, because O’Brien turned to him, startled, but Jack wasn’t aware of anything except time seeming to slow down. Moving as fast as he could, he barrelled into the agent, throwing them both behind the protection of the kitchen counter. In the same moment, the room exploded. 

As dust and plaster rained down, Jack realised the explosion had actually been quite focussed, taking out the internal door and most of the kitchenette. It had also blasted a hole in the wall opposite, giving a fine view into the bedroom. Hoping it was just a one shot wonder, Jack cautiously got to his feet. His ears were ringing and a piece of debris seemed to have caught him on the forehead, but he was otherwise in one piece. On the floor, O’Brien groaned. 

“Tom?” Jack winced as the sound reverberated inside his head. The fluent swearing from outside in the hall told him that the other agent was fine. Moving carefully, trying not to trip over the rubble or upset his balance too much, Jack made his way across the remains of the kitchenette. 

The door had been shattered into splinters, and Jack could see into the bathroom beyond. A rather dazed man was half-lying in the bath, clutching a large piece of metal to his chest. Shaking his head was a bad plan, so Jack settled for leaning against what was left of the doorframe and giving him a sardonic smile. 

“I’m guessing you’ve never used one of those before,” he said, watching the man’s eyes try to track towards him. They didn’t succeed. “Next time, you might want to dial the range up and the power down.” 

“Huh?” 

“Mr Harson, I presume.” Jack came over and pulled the huge gun from unresisting hands. “We’d like to have a little talk with you.” 

Twenty minutes later, Mark Harson was handcuffed to one of the upright wooden chairs, watching Jack watch him. O’Brien had a purpling bruise on his temple, but was otherwise unscathed and Jack’s own head was more or less clear now. Running a hand through his hair, he realised what he must have looked like with his bloodied face and dust-caked clothes. Good. He wanted to scare Harson, not impress him

The federal agents had done a fair job of initial questioning, Jack had to give them that, but so far, Harson was refusing to say anything, looking anywhere except at the men questioning him and only shaking his head from time to time. Jack had just about seen enough. 

“Gentlemen?” he said. “May I?” 

“Knock yourself out,” Jenkins said, retreating to the far side of the room and leaning on the window sill. 

Pulling one of the other chairs across, Jack sat down opposite Harson. 

“These guys haven’t got a clue, have they?” he asked, not expecting any kind of reaction. “They think this is about a few murders and some kind of wild animal. They don’t know the kind of people you’re dealing with. I do.” Jack leant forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. “I want to know the contact address and the transmat times. That’s all. You’re going to tell me them eventually, it’s just a case of how long it’s going to take.” O’Brien began to say something and Jack cut him off with a look. He turned back to Harson. “Because I’m not with them. I’m not a special agent and I’m not a policeman. I don’t exist, officially. Which means whatever I do, didn’t happen. Do you understand me?” 

Harson still didn’t look up, but his tongue flicked out, wetting his lips. There was still plaster in his hair and over his clothes. Jack leaned in close enough to see each speck of dust. “Just the contact address and the transmat times. Tell me now and save yourself some grief. And pain.” 

The last word made Harson flinch, just a little, telling Jack all he needed to know. He looked up at the two special agents. “Leave the room.” 

“Look, I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing,” Jenkins began. Jack didn’t give him the chance to finish. Standing up, he went to the slightly damaged front door and opened it again. 

“I’m telling you to leave. Because you can either stand in the corner with your eyes closed and your fingers in your ears or you can go wait in the car so that we’re ready to go once we have the address. Your choice.” 

“You can’t-” 

“Actually, I can.” Jack still didn’t raise his voice or use anything other than a flat, emotionless tone. “I can do whatever I need to and you have no authority to stop me. So leave. Now.” 

For a tense moment, he thought Jenkins was going to call his bluff. Then O’Brien got to his feet, putting a hand on his partner’s elbow. 

“Come on, Tom. Let’s get the engine running.” 

When they were gone, Jack closed the hall door very slowly and carefully, fitting it back into the frame as best he could. Then he looked around at the remains of the apartment. 

“Now,” he said. “Where shall we begin?”

* * *

_After the application of some Persuasion, Mr Harson disclosed the location to which the animals were being transported and that a delivery was due on the following night. He was then taken into custody by the Special Agents. It was agreed that the FBI should put the location under surveillance in the hopes of intercepting the shipment._

Hugh noted the capital letter but let his eyes pass over it to the next sentence. There were some things he didn’t ask Jack, not wanting to see his friend lie to him without flinching. Again, he flicked to the back of the paperwork, looking at the schematic for the building at the location given to Jack by Harson. According to the notes it was in the garment district of New York, used in the past for storing clothes and material. Apparently someone had found a new use for it. 

* * *

Jack hated stakeouts and was quite happy for the FBI to do the bulk of the work in that area, setting up in an empty apartment across the street from the target. He joined them after dark, nodding as they listed the people who’d been past the building or near the building or shown signs of interest in the building during the day. It was a long list. Significantly, what it didn’t include was anyone who’d actually gone inside. 

He joined O’Brien at the window, looking across the street. The building seemed old and run down from the outside, typical of the area. With a knowing grin at the agent, he pulled the black box from his pocket. 

“Checking for your alien energy again?” O’Brien asked. 

“Always.” Jack turned it on, watching the lines undulate across the screen. “Can I ask? After seeing those bodies and seeing what Harson’s gun could do, how can you still be so sceptical?” 

“Naturally gifted.” O’Brien sniffed. “I prefer to think of it as cautious.” 

“What about your partner?” 

“Oh, don’t mind Tom. He’s suspicious of everyone he hasn’t known for at least ten years.” 

“How long has he known you?” 

“Seven years, four months.” 

Jack did the maths. “Two years, eight months to go, then.” He looked down as the scanner beeped. 

“The aliens have landed?” 

“Possibly.” Leaning closer to the window, Jack tried to see into the building. Most of the windows were boarded up and he searched for any possible cracks in the defence. As he looked up and down, his eyes strayed sideways to the building next door. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to it. 

“Hang on.” O’Brien consulted his notes. “Mixed use. There’s a dentist, two doctors and an acupuncturist.” 

“So there have been people in and out of there all day?” 

“I can check.” 

“Don’t bother.” Swearing under his breath, Jack turned away from the window. “They’ll use it as a cover. They’ll go into the building next door and there’s so many people coming and going that no-one’s going to notice if they don’t come out again for a while. Damnit.” He stuck the box in his pocket and headed towards the door. 

“Hey!” O’Brien called. “Where you going?” 

“In there.” Jack didn’t look round. He heard arguing, then footsteps on the stairs behind him as he hurried down them two at a time. When he reached the front door, he paused, looking back. Jenkins and O’Brien were right behind him. “You don’t have to come,” he said. “I’ll take a radio and call if I need you.” 

“Like hell you will,” Jenkins said, pushing at the door. “You only give radios to people you trust. Everyone else, you follow.” He waited at the top of the steps to the street. “Are you coming or not?” 

It took them five minutes to talk their way into the building and another five to find the stairs to the basement. Jack led the way through the narrow corridors, pushing at doors and peering round corners. 

“What exactly are we looking for?” Jenkins asked. 

“A way in.” Jack rattled another door handle. “My best guess is that the two buildings are linked together somehow, and since there’s nothing to see above ground, it’s gotta be down here.” 

“Your best guess?” 

"If you have a better one, now’s the time to speak.” Looking back down the corridor, Jack tried to orientate himself. They’d turned too many corners for him to be sure which direction they needed. Fishing in his pocket, he handed the scanner to O’Brien. “Here. Switch it on and tell me what you see.” As the other man wrestled with the buttons, Jack closed his eyes and tried to remember. 

“Well,” O’Brien said after a moment, “I’ve got some wavy lines.” 

“One or two and how wavy?” 

“Two and there’s about four peaks and troughs.” 

“That’s transmat energy alright.” Jack opened his eyes and gestured for O’Brien to lead the way. “Let me know what happens. If the lines come together, we’re in the right direction. If they move apart again, we’ve gone too far.” 

They walked slowly down the corridor, Jack checking each doorway as they passed. After a minute or so, O’Brien stopped, retreating a few steps and glancing at the door to his right. 

“This is it.” He held the scanner up for Jack to see. 

“Sure looks like it.” Jack ran a hand over the door. It was too sturdy to be kicked in and, like all the others, it was locked. Drawing his revolver, Jack put two bullets into the metal and woodwork, hoping that the sound wouldn’t carry. 

The room beyond was in darkness and, after fumbling for a light switch that didn’t seem to exist, Jack moved carefully inside. It seemed to be some kind of electrical junction room, with pipes and wires covering most of the walls. Opposite the door they’d opened was another door. This one wasn’t locked. 

Jack paused on the threshold, looking at the two agents. “This is as far as you have to go,” he said. “You’re already way beyond the call of duty.” 

“You think I trust you out of my sight?” Jenkins asked. “But we could use some back-up. Sean?” 

O’Brien hesitated, looking from his partner to Jack and back again. Then he nodded. 

“Try to stay out of trouble until I get back?” 

“We can try.” 

Jack wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected to find, but an empty building wasn’t it. There was a faint, musty smell in the air, as though the windows hadn’t been opened for too long. Scraps of wood and cardboard littered the hallways, mostly covered in a thick layer of dust. 

“If I see an alien,” Jenkins said, “do I shoot it?” 

“If you can.” 

Jack led the way into a large, empty room that seemed to cover the whole width of the building. There were thick, square pillars supporting the ceiling and one end of the space had been partitioned off with a low screen. 

Jack sniffed the air. 

“Do you smell that?” he asked, not waiting for an answer. Going further into the room, he took a closer look behind one of the pillars. The floor was stained with something dark, and the white paint of the pillar was splashed with red. Blood. 

“Jack!” The shout was cut short by the sound of a shot, and Jack turned, bringing his gun up and round. 

Jenkins was shooting at the four figures who had appeared out of nowhere at the other end of the room and Jack fired two rounds, moving towards Jenkins. Before he’d covered half the distance, Jenkins collapsed and Jack felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. 

He stumbled, squeezing off another round before the gun fell from his numb fingers. The last thing he heard before the world turned black was voices speaking in a guttural, alien language. Then there was silence.

* * *

Hugh looked up from his reading as the office door opened. 

“Brought you more tea,” Hywel said, putting the mug on the desk. “How’s the report?” 

“Living up to Jack’s usual standards.” 

“That bad?” 

“Well, he survived to write it,” Hugh said, “but I’m going to have Sandy retype it. Last time I checked, there’s one ‘l’ in ‘revolver’ and two in ‘fall.’” 

“Did he get hurt?” Hywel asked, taking the cap off and turning it in his hands. Hugh sighed. 

“Probably. Jack usually knows the way to bring out the best in people.” 

_On recovering consciousness, I determined that Special Agent Jenkins and I had been moved to a different location, although at that point, I was unable to tell if we were still in teh same building. After questioning, our captors left us alone for a time, probably so that they could conclude their business._

* * *

The shock of freezing water jolted Jack into full consciousness. He gasped, spitting water and blinking it out of his eyes. The first thing he was aware of was the cold. Someone had stripped him of his shirt and trousers, leaving him in t-shirt and shorts, which were clinging to him, damp and clammy. The second thing he was aware of was the feeling of metal around his wrists, holding them behind his back. 

Still dazed, he tried to curl up against the cold and rest his head against the floor, only to have a booted foot prod him in the shoulder and turn him over. 

"Who are you?" 

His hands were being crushed beneath him, and Jack shivered as his skin pressed against the icy concrete. Then hands grasped his arms, yanking him to his feet. 

"Who are you?" 

Managing to focus, Jack looked into an angry face, inches from his own. It wasn't a face he recognised, but he knew the language that the next order was given in, and it didn't fill him with hope. The eyes that were glaring into his flickered to one side and Jack had a precious second to brace himself before a fist rammed into him.  
The beating was thorough, punctuated by the repeated question. He tried to focus on other things, like the feeling of the floor under his bare feet and the wet t-shirt stuck to his chest. His captors knew what they were doing, and when they eventually let him fall to the ground, he was dizzy from pain and breathless. 

"We will return," one of them said, "and then you will answer the question." 

As the sound of booted feet died away, Jack reflected that they might not be as professional as he'd thought. No-one who did this professionally would have given up at that point, unless they had somewhere better to be. Closing his eyes – which wasn't hard as one of them was already swelling shut – he tried to focus his mind again. 

"Jack?" 

The voice was coming from behind him. Struggling to sit upright, Jack turned enough that he could see the rest of the room. There were no windows, and the stale air suggested a basement or underground room of some kind. Along one wall, iron bars had been installed to create cages of different sizes and Tom Jenkins was sitting in the cage nearest him, watching him with a worried expression. 

"Jack?" he said again. "Are you alright?" 

"Great," Jack croaked, coughing a little. One rib felt as though it was cracked. "You?" 

"I'm fine." Tom sounded more frustrated than hurt. "What the hell was that about?" 

"I've run into these guys before." Jack leaned his head against the rough brick wall, trying to stop it from spinning so fast. 

"Who are they? Really." 

"Really? They're pirates." 

There was a long pause. 

"Pirates?" 

"Technically space pirates, but that sounds more romantic than it is." 

"You're telling me that I've been kidnapped by space pirates?" 

"Pretty much." Opening his good eye, Jack looked over at the other man. "And at least you got to keep your clothes. What happened?" 

"I woke up in here. They asked me who I was, what I knew, that kind of thing. Then they brought you in." 

"What did you tell them?" 

"Only what they could get from my wallet." 

"Name, rank and serial number? Good." Jack sat more upright, pulling experimentally at his handcuffs. "Did they leave you with anything? Keys, watch, anything like that?" 

"I've still got my watch," Tom said doubtfully. "But I don't see..." 

"Is it on a leather strap or a metal one?" Jack asked. The handcuffs seemed to be attached to a long chain. It might just give him enough movement. Without getting up, he turned slowly, taking up some of the slack as he faced the wall. 

“Leather. Why?” 

“It’s not as good but it'll do." Jack looked up the wall, tracing the chain to a hook at about head height. Too high to reach with his hands cuffed behind his back. Time to do something about that. "Take it off and use the catch to pick the lock." 

"What?" 

Jack paused in the process of lifting himself over his hands. "You've never picked a lock before?" 

"It's not exactly on the training course," Jenkins said, sourly. 

"Then just hang on a minute." Jack pushed off the ground again, grimacing as he stretched his injured ribs. He was listing slightly, not able to take all his weight on his right hand side, and the effort made him break out in a sweat. After a few minutes' of struggling, he managed to get his hands down behind his knees, bringing them up and resting his sore head for a moment. He could feel Jenkins' eyes on him. Half-turning, he gave the man a weak smile. "This is actually easier when you're not wearing very much." Pulling his feet towards him, he finally had his hands shackled in front of him rather than behind. 

Using the chain, he pulled himself upright, testing the strength of the hook in the wall. It didn't move very much, but it was enough to suggest there was something he could work with. Leaning against the wall, he limped his way over to the cages. 

"Give me your watch," he said, holding out his hands. 

"What about you?" 

"Let's get you out first, shall we? One thing at a time." Jack took the small object, turning it in his hands and pulling on the catch. It was thin and barely long enough for what he needed. Frowning, Jack looked down at his wrists. The cuffs themselves were basic, with only three links between the bracelets. The chain had been threaded through the central link and was made of a lighter coloured metal, thinner in diameter. The links were long and slim. Jack smiled. 

Fifteen minutes, and some exotically bad language later, Jack felt the last tumbler fall into place. He withdrew the chain link and the watch catch, grinning at Jenkins who'd stood gaping through most of the procedure. 

"It's a bit mangled, I'm afraid," Jack said, nodding to the watch. "They don't make 'em like they used to." 

"Neat trick," Jenkins said, pushing the door open. "What next?" 

"My turn." Jack shifted his grip on the watch strap, angling the catch towards the lock. "While I do this, see if you can get that hook out of the wall." 

Jenkins nodded, going up and tugging at the hook. "If you're going to get the cuffs off anyway, why do you want this out?" 

"Because I might not be able to get them off in time," Jack said, giving the door a quick glance, "and we need a weapon." 

They worked in silence for a few minutes, Jack concentrated on one handed lock-picking and Jenkins working at the cement round the wall hook. Jack had just about got the bracelet loose when he heard the handle of the door turn. Freezing, he looked up. 

"Get behind me," he said to Jenkins. 

"But-" 

"Don't argue." The bracelet fell loose, and Jack used his newly freed hand to push the other man against the wall. "You don't know anything about them. I do." 

The door opened fully and three of the men from earlier came into the room, talking in the strange, stilted language that Jack barely understood. They stopped talking, coming to a stop when they saw the two prisoners. Jack's interrogator took a step away from the others. 

"We have come for the other one," he said to Jack. His English was accented but understandable. "You will be taken to the ship." 

"Right." Jack shifted his stance a little, trying to watch all three men through his one good eye. "What are you going to do with him?" 

The leader smile unpleasantly. "The animals are hungry." 

"That was pretty much what I thought." Jack returned the grin, watching the pirate's fade. He tightened his grip on the handcuff and chain, only too aware of how the scene must have looked. Jack's t-shirt and shorts were soaked through still, and they clung to him, making him shiver from time to time. His face, arms and legs were covered in bruises and cuts, one eye was almost closed and he was still chained to the wall by one wrist. His ribs felt like they were on fire and his head could explode at any moment. No-one looking from him to the three, large, armed men would have given him more than a snowball's chance in hell. But his confident smile and relaxed posture was making his opponents decidedly nervous. 

One of them took a step towards him. Jack glanced over his shoulder, checking that Jenkins was still backed up against the wall. Taking a step backwards, Jack spoke softly and quickly, hoping the pirates couldn't hear or understand. 

"When you get the chance, run for the door. Listen to me," he went on, overriding Jenkins' objections, "someone has to find out where we are and report back. It's not going to be me," he rattled the chain a little, "and I'll be fine. Trust me." Meeting the man's eyes, he held the gaze for a moment longer then looked back at the group by the door. "When you get the chance, run," he repeated, readying himself for the fight. 

He got no warning at all. The pirate to his right, the one who'd stayed back as the others approached, came towards him, almost at a run. Reflexes kicking in, Jack swung the arm that was still chained to the wall, catching the man in the face with the heavy bracelet. He then brought his knee up, slamming his fists down as the man doubled over. 

The other two came at him at once, trying to force him back into the wall. Jack threw them all to the side, shouting at Jenkins as they fell. The twisting sent fresh pain through his side, and they landed in a heap on the floor. Fighting for breath, Jack managed to get his arm free, using the movement to wrap the chain round one man's neck. The other was almost on top of him, and ground his fist into Jack's injured ribs. He cried out, seeing stars, but he kept pulling at the chain and pushing at whatever he could reach with his other hand. 

A finger made contact with something soft, and he heard a shout of pain as he realised he'd found the man's eye. The pirate with the chain round his neck was starting to wheeze, scrabbling for a grip on Jack or the metal garrotte. Jack pulled harder, rolling to bring the semi-conscious man between him and his blinded attacker, only too aware that the first man he'd hit could come to at any moment. As the body on top of him went limp, he heard the unmistakable sound of an energy weapon being powered up. 

Gritting his teeth, Jack pushed the body off of him, trying to locate the source of the noise. It was the man he'd blinded, blood running down his cheek, who had the blast pistol pointed at his head. A quick scan of the room told Jack that Jenkins had got out, and he closed his eyes, waiting for the blast. Instead, he heard a gun shot and jumped instinctively. When nothing else happened, he opened his eyes, grinning as the pirate looked at him in surprise. 

"I guess the cavalry's arrived," he said, aware that his words were a little slurred. Half his body was numb, which he was grateful for as the other half seemed to be on fire. The pirate gave a last, alarmed look at the door, then thumbed the control on his pistol. Without hesitation, he shot the two men lying on the floor. Jack watched dumbly as the bodies twitched, then stopped moving altogether. 

"No witnesses," the pirate said. And he pulled the trigger.

* * *

Hugh had given up trying to fend off Hywel's curiosity, and was reading the report aloud, although the words and phrases sounded odd coming with a Welsh accent instead of an American one. When he came to the part where Jack was shot, he fudged some of the details, not sure how much Hywel knew or how much Jack would want him to know. 

"How long was he out for?" Hywel asked. 

"Hmm?" Hugh scanned down the page. "He doesn't know, exactly. Probably not more than a few minutes." 

Reading on, Hugh began to see what Jack had meant about running out of space between the lines. 

_When I recovered (again), the building was crawling with FBI agents, one of whom had been kind enough to drape a blanket over me. Everyone was suitably preoccupied with the menagerie and so didn't notice the miraculous nature of the recovery._

* * *

Jack was still cold when he woke up. The blanket covering him from shoulders to feet was itchy, thin and seemed to have absorbed most of the water from his t-shirt. Pushing it off, he sat up with a groan, trying to clear the last of the echoes from his head.

"Decided to join us, have you?" The voice came from his right, and Jack turned to see O'Brien sitting on an upturned box, watching him with a curious expression.

"Can't leave you guys to have all the fun." They were above ground now, he realised, and there was a strong draught coming from somewhere. Jack decided that a damp blanket was better than no blanket and he wrapped it round his shoulders. "Where are we?"

"Warehouse, South Street Seaport." Reaching down beside him, O'Brien picked up a bundle of clothes which he threw to Jack. "Thought you might like these back."

"Thanks. How'd you find us?" Jack began pulling on his clothes as O'Brien talked.

"After you guys so inconsiderately vanished, I went back and had another talk with our Mr Harson. Turns out all I had to do was mention your name and he started spilling details again. He didn't know the address, but he'd noticed that some of the crates that the animals came in had shipping labels on them. Incidentally, he nearly had a heart attack when I pulled out a pen to write that down. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Jack paused in the process of doing up his braces. "Let's just say I think he'll be using pencils for years to come. What did you do? There's gotta be a whole load of warehouses down here."

"But not many that make your scanner thing light up like a Christmas tree. After that, well, it turns out that bullets kill aliens just like they kill everything else." O'Brien pulled the small black box from his pocket. "You want this back?"

"Hang on to it." Wrapping his coat around him, Jack grinned. "You never know when it might be useful."

"You think I'm planning on doing this again?"

Still smiling, Jack came over and sat down on the crate, leaning close to O'Brien. "I don't think you'll be able to help it. Did you get a look at the animals?" 

The agent shuddered. "Yeah."

"Do you really think you can just get on with your work, with your life, knowing what you know? Seeing what you've seen?"

"Tom can't, I know that.”

"Where is he?"

They tracked Jenkins down at a nearby bar, sitting in a corner, staring into a glass of what looked like neat scotch. Jack left O'Brien to get the drinks and took a seat at the small table.

"How you doing?" he asked gently.

Jenkins gave a snorting laugh and tossed back half the drink. "I thought I was dog meat. Literally. Does this kind of thing happen to you a lot?"

"Regularly."

"It shows." Jenkins swallowed the other half of the scotch and squinted at Jack. "I mean, the way you faced off with those guys, it was like, you knew exactly what you were doing. You didn't even have to think about it." He dropped his head. "And I just ran away."

"You did the right thing." Even as he said it, Jack knew it was no comfort. "Someone had to get word out."

"Yeah. Except I didn't need to, did I?"

"Is he beating himself up for stuff that's not his fault?" O'Brien put three more glasses on the table and sat down.

"I take it he does that?" Jack asked.

"All the time. Waste of energy, as usual."

There was silence for a moment as they drank, and Jack watched the two men carefully. Jenkins was staring at nothing, wrapped up in his own world of anger and frustration. O'Brien was more controlled, apparently more relaxed, but Jack didn't miss the worried glances he was giving his partner.

Jack finished his drink and dropped the glass back onto the table with a clunk.

"I've got to get going," he announced, pulling his coat back on.

"What about all the animals?" Jenkins asked. "What are we supposed to do with them?"

"You'll think of something. Or the Bureau will anyway." He fished in a pocket for a moment, then held something out to O'Brien. "This isn't my card."

"Okay," O'Brien said slowly. "That's different." He turned it over in his fingers. "Torchwood."

"It's the people I work for and, if you want, the people you work for too." Holding up a hand, Jack went on, "It's in addition to what you do at the moment. Couple of hundred more dollars a year, and you guys get all the weird cases. All the strange stuff that happens comes through your hands. We'll see to that." 

"Weird stuff?" Jenkins scoffed. "You do know that this is New York, don't you? How much weirder can it get?"

"Did you meet the brain-eating creature?" Jack raised his eyebrows. "All we're asking is that when you find stuff, you let us know. We'll take it from there."

"We? How many of you guys are there?" O'Brien asked, putting the card in his notebook.

"Not nearly enough, which is why we're recruiting. What do you say? Same hours, more money, more danger. You in?"

For a moment he thought he'd pitched it wrong. Jenkins was still staring at his drink, not moving. Without taking his eyes off the man, Jack began to move one hand, very slowly, towards the small metal case in his other pocket. Then Jenkins shrugged, gulped down the rest of his drink and slammed the glass onto the table in front of Jack, who very carefully released his grip on the box of retcon pills.

"I'm in and so's Sean."

Grinning, O'Brien nodded. "Like the man said."

"Good." Jack got up, shaking both of their hands. "Welcome to the flip side."

"Jack?" Jenkins called after him. "Will we be seeing you around?"

Jack paused, then smiled. "Maybe. But I'll certainly be seeing you. Good luck, guys." 

Buttoning his overcoat, he stepped out into the darkness.


End file.
